Henry Makes Good On A Promise
by Nitlon
Summary: Just a one-shot from something Henry said in an episode. Which, it turns out I'm continuing, but hush you. The rating is probably too high, but I wanted to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own nuffin'. Actually, that's doubly negating a sentence making it positive, so…I own nuffin'. Better? Just a one-shot that popped into my head and threatened to kill all the other things in there until put on a Word document.

Vicki strode into Henry's apartment, numerous case files in hand and all-business set jaw line. His door was open anyway.

"You shouldn't leave your door open. Never know what might walk in." She shouted, though she couldn't see him at the moment.

"I suppose you'd be the proof." He replied from his studio. She headed in that direction, but froze at the scene before her.

Henry was standing in front of a canvas, much larger than the drawing paper he usually used, twirling a brush between his fingers. A multitude of pencils, pens, and brushes rested behind one of his ears, and it was truly a small miracle that they even stayed there with no spillage. He sucked on his lower lip, staring at the half-finished painting of huge dogs tearing apart an as-of-yet faceless person in the lower corner of the picture. It was truly a gruesome sight, or would have been, had it been finished. At the moment, however, the person was just a vague white blobby shape with a few penciled-in dashes and lines to give the suggestion that he or she was missing at least one limb. Actually, the only part with color so far was the front half of the dogs, which, compared to the human, were likely at least three or four times the size of a large Great Dane. There were three of them, and each had blood, muscle and other lovely such things hanging from their teeth.

"Gee." Vicki commented. "School mural?"

"I was bored." He replied, still staring at it, brow furrowed in thought.

"Well, don't stop on my account." Vicki informed him, hands held up defensively as she backed out of the room.

"I can't figure out how to give them legs. You wouldn't think putting legs on hellhounds would be so difficult." He frowned. Or pouted, rather.

"Well, I haven't done it for years. Can't say I remember." She cocked one eyebrow quizzically. "Who's the lucky recipient of the legless wonders?" she asked, indicating the anonymous victim.

He smiled to himself. "Guess." She snorted.

"Bill Nye the Science Guy?" He turned his head in her direction.

"Who?"

"Never mind." She rolled her eyes behind his back. "Pretentious little…"

"I heard that." He muttered, a smile twitching at his lips. He sighed and added the brush he was holding to the mass behind his ear, trading it for a drawing pencil. Faster than is human, he began to sketch out the grim details of the man. Though she'd somewhat expected it, Vicki couldn't hide a tiny smile at the figure it took on. Then, a tiny frown.

Smile.

Frown.

Grin.

Pout. The drawing was now perfectly clear.

"Henry!" she whacked him in the arm as he put the finishing touches on Mike Celluci, Destitute Of Left Arm.

"I seem to remember telling you I'd do this." He countered, grinning impishly.

"Not on a four by five canvas!" He suppressed a chuckle at her reaction.

"What are you going to do with it?" She asked earnestly, hoping he wouldn't hang it in his own apartment. Mike didn't come around often, but if he did…

"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll make it the cover of my new novel."

"You know, four hundred eighty or not, you're such a seventeen year old." She accused, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm a mature seventeen." He replied. She just snorted and turned towards the pile of files that she'd dropped on his desk.

"Come on, Monet, I've got some stuff for you to do."

Reviews feed my plot bunnies. That may or may not be an idle threat.


	2. Hey, man, it isn't funny

Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. Except for the stuff that I do own. Mainly being this computer and…well, come to think of it, not much else. You know, I wonder what would happen if I _didn't_ put a disclaimer. Not saying I'm going to try it, just…well, unprofessional curiosity. See-if-anyone-would-notice sort of thing.

The next time Vicki wandered into Henry's studio she noticed something. Or, rather, the lack of something. A large, blank and ominous wall stared back at her in the place where the picture had been yesterday.

"Henry…" She said.

"What?"

"What did you do with it?" She felt a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.

"Do with what?" She glared at him, which only invoked a rather amused smile on his part.

"Really, Vicki. You're going to have to do better than that. Honestly, I've no clue what you're talking about!"

"Really." It was more an accusatory word than a question.

"Really."

"The painting, Henry, the painting." She scowled. She'd had a bad enough day already. Well, not really, but Henry like this was…trying, to say the least..

"I have a lot of paintings."

"A lot of paintings of Mike?"

"Maybe." He grinned coltishly.

"Well, far be it from me to disturb your lovely _infatuation_, but where is the huge painting of our favorite police officer being torn to shreds?" He frowned at her. He hadn't finished having his fun.

"Oh, you mean the one with the hellhounds?"

"No, Henry, the other one."

"You assume there aren't other ones." That smug, self-satisfied smile was back again. She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, tapping her foot expectantly.

"Why the sudden interest?" He leaned forward suddenly, and though their faces didn't grow as close as he'd liked due to Vicki's leaning backwards, they were still in an uncomfortable proximity for her.

"Jealous?" His asked quietly, suggestively.

"Whoa, there, Hank." She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away. He smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Henry."

"Vicki."

"Where is the painting."

"That didn't sound like a question."

"It was a threat disguised as a question and spoken as a statement." He regarded her for a moment before relenting.

"It's in hanging in the back, _mother_." He looked up at the ceiling in smothered amusement.

"Show me," she replied, ignoring the comparison to Elizabeth Blount.

"I knew that you wanted to see it. Admit it, Vicki, the idea appeals to you."

"I want to make sure you haven't tacked it up in the latest art show, buddy." He chuckled softly.

"Very well." He went to the back of his studio and opened the door of a large closet, which held several (presumably dry) paintings on hangars. He bunched them together on one side, much like you would when looking for a particular item of clothing, and began to sift through them methodically, at first in an annoyingly self-satisfied manner.

Then a bit more urgently.

Then desperately.

"Vic, it's not here."

"What do you mean, 'it's not here'?!" He looked at her like one would an exceptionally slow toddler.

"I mean, it was here, and now it's not. As in, miss-ing." He said this last word slowly, over-pronouncing every syllable.

"Henry, this just now stopped being funny."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He was actually rather upset, he'd finally got the legs_ just_ right. The teeth were pretty nice, too.

"You _lost_ it?"

"I'm not sure 'lost' is the proper term for whatever happened to it."

"What, you think someone broke in, _undetected _by_ you_, left all the valuables and money and stole _one_ painting?" He couldn't keep a sly smile from his face.

"I guess – " She held up one hand.

"_Don't_ make a joke about it walking away."

"You ruin all my fun."

"Henry, I'm serious. Where is it?"

"I. Don't. Know." She could only stare at him, shocked an exasperated. She took out her phone, dialing a number without even looking down.

"Mike?"

A/N: I wasn't actually planning on continuing this, but then I was stuck on my other story today and wrote this for creative-type-juices, and, well,_damn_. Now I've got them juices boiling for three different stories at once. Just, I'm not entirely sure about continuing this particular one.

...OH! Right! Reviews feed my plot bunnies (and they's lookin' mighty hungry).


	3. Fangirl With An Agenda

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters anymore than I own the painting. (I don't own the painting. In case, you know, that needed clarification).

"What is it, Vic? I got stuff to do." Mike's voice was muffled by static.

"Did…where are you?" She tried to disguise the slight urgency in her voice.

"The station. Why, something wrong?" She braced herself and took a deep breath.

"DidyoubreakintoHenry'sapartment?" Whoosh. There was silence on the other end, and Vicki couldn't help but wonder if that was good or bad.

"Why…why would I do that?" He finally stammered, though he sounded less than totally serious.

"I mean…" While still on the phone, she looked up at Henry. His eyes were wide and he began to wave his arms front to back, _No, no, no, no, __**NO**_

"Never mind. Sorry. Just wondering." She hung up.

"_What_?" She asked.

"Firstly, it couldn't have been Mike. I'd have smelled _that_ a mile away." He openly showed his mild disdain.

"Are you sure you aren't just used to him?" She smirked. The situation wasn't exactly urgent, after all, not requiring total seriousness. In fact, for once, she had the upper hand.

He ignored her. "I don't need him knowing this. It'll only give him more ammo. Secondly, it couldn't have been a person. There's nothing here that's new." She glared at him.

"You sure?"

"Would you like to take a whiff?" She put her hands on her hips and waited for realization to dawn. It didn't.

"Henry…"

"Yes?"

"Who did you have for dinner yesterday?" He looked at her in a mixture of guilt and dread, but didn't answer.

"What, you're telling me you've stopped playing with your food?" He winced.

"She didn't take anything."

"Oh-ho!" she cried triumphantly. "So the whole night, you weren't _distracted_ in the _least_?"

"Anytime I was distracted, she was more so." Vicki made no effort to mask her disgust.

"Thank you for that mental image. Are you sure there wasn't a moment when she was alone in your studio?"

"I don't remember." Before she could add yet another snide remark, he cut her off:

"Even if there was, I doubt she'd have been able to get away with such a large…_colorful_ painting without my noticing." Vicki snorted.

"Could you check it out, _please_? That is, of course, assuming you remember her name or what she looks like. Then again, I suppose you could track her down by blood type." She grinned.

"Victoria, there is nothing amusing about someone managing to break into my home undetected. This could be dangerous." He stared at paintings on the hangars, pursing his lips. It had always amazed Vicki how he could go from playful to melodramatic in a matter of mere seconds. Like a pouty Superman.

"Do…do you even remember her name?"

"_Yes_, Vicki, I remember her name. But it wasn't her, the only people who were in this studio recently were me, you, and…" He paused, sniffing the air. "And some exceptionally fetid Chinese food. Well, I hope that was Chinese food." He looked at her pointedly.

"Well, we can't all live off hemoglobin, Lestat. Are you sure the smell of my eating habits didn't cover up anything else?"

"Are you suggesting there's something wrong with my olfactory senses? I assure you, I may not be a bloodhound, but I can smell better than one." He turned and stalked off to his kitchen, not seeing the face she made at his back.

"Ha. Didn't smell that, _did_ you?" She muttered, her voice just above mouthing the words.

"No, but I heard that." He called back. She followed in the direction of his voice.

"So it was either some _scentless wonder_…or a fangirl with an agenda. Gee, ever heard of Occam's Razor?"

"Vicki, I'm telling you, it was here yesterday. It couldn't have been her."

"You got a better idea?" He stared at her for a second…Then another second. Then another.

"…I'm calling Bettie." She tried to hold back a girlish giggle.

"Oh, that's great, that's just great, Henry. No, no mortal creature could get past the great Henry Fitzroy! If someone stole his painting, it must have been _supernatural_! The occult takes a special interest in you, does it? Aren't you jumping to conclusions?"

"You asked me if I had an idea. This is my idea." He picked up his phone.

"I said a _better_ idea, Henry." Her mouth twitched. Just as he was dialing, her phone rang.

"This is Vicki." She answered it promptly.

"Vic, tell your stupid leech to get his punk-ass down here NOW!" She had to hold the phone away from her ear for fear of temporarily being rendered deaf.

"Mike, what are you talking about?" She looked at Henry nervously. He hadn't been playing some magnificent joke on her, had he?

"What am I talking about? What am I TALKING ABOUT? I'm talking about his fucking portrait of me getting eaten by glorified puppies being nailed up on my bedroom ceiling!!" Her eyes grew wide and she gave Henry a glare that would have scared a snake into blinking. He just stared back at her, clueless, mouthing the word _What?_, eyebrows raised questioningly. Still, he couldn't keep from grinning a little as a stream of Italian profanities erupted from Vicki's phone.

"Mike. Mike. MIKE!" She had to shout in order for him to hear her.

"WHAT?!"

"I'm going to call you back, okay?"

"No, no, not okay! Vicki, get him down here NOW. I'm going to kick his stupid teeth in! I'll stuff his head so far up his ass it'll come back out the top again! I'll – " She hung up.

"Henry. Did you or did you not nail the painting to Mike's bedroom ceiling?" He shook in silent laughter. He was almost doubled over.

"Henry?!"

"No, no, I didn't. I wish I had, though, judging from his reaction it was a wonderful idea."

"Right. Sure, you didn't."

"I didn't!"

"Who besides you would want to –" Suddenly there was a flash of movement behind him.

"What was that?" Vicki asked, shaken slightly. That had looked like…

"A dog?"

A/N: Anyone who can guess what it is based on that description gets a cookie. Or, if you don't like cookies…you get a…carrot, or something. Just to clarify, it's almost impossible to guess what it is based on that description [and get said cookie unless you are insanely lucky, or…no, no, that's pretty much the only way to get it. It isn't _necessarily_ a supernatural thing. Also, don't actually expect an update everyday, because right now the only other part I have figured out is the semi-sort-of-for-lack-of-a-better-word climax, and that was just because I woke up with it this morning. (I know, right, everyone's terribly disappointed because you were all anxiously awaiting part four. snorts and rolls eyes).

Reviews feed plot bunnies! Good or bad (or grammar or spelling, because believe me that stuff bugs me too).


	4. Lassie's Stuck Behind the Shelf

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the apartment, or Toronto. Yet. Or, well, not ever, but still.

"Henry? Did you see –"

"Yes, Vicki. I saw it too." Something like a small dog, perhaps a juvenile husky or similar erect-eared animal, had just fleeted past the both of them and hid behind the bookshelf.

"Wow. That was some Chinese food."

"Are you suggesting that the dog came out of the Chinese food?" Henry was on the defensive; how had he not smelled this intruder before? And how, praytell, did it have anything to do with the painting?

"It was a joke about the smell, Mr. Scruge. Since when do you take everything so seriously?"

"Since some foul jackal headed beast disrupted our conversation." He retorted bitterly.

"Whoa there! Jackal headed beast? What, is it Anubis now?"

"It was a metaphor. Obviously not a very good one." The two of them had been staring at the bookshelf, and not much else, for the entirety of the conversation, making no eye contact. Both had expected the animal to come out by now.

"What do we do?" Vicki's eyebrow was raised immediately.

"We get it out of my bookshelf." Henry started for it, placing his hands on either side as if to lift it. "Now, when I pick the end of the shelf up, you scare it towards the kitchen. NOT my bedroom. Clear?" Vicki couldn't help but giggle at his perfectly calm, serious expression.

"Aye aye, Cap'n Exterminator." She tried to get control of herself, and managed it with some difficulty.

"Vicki, there is nothing amusing about this situation. This animal clearly isn't a natural being, otherwise I would have smelled it. This is serious." His brow furrowed in frustration.

"Right, sorry, but the thing was the size of a basketball." She sighed and shook her head. He was right: this couldn't be a normal dog. He would have smelled that. But that didn't mean it was evil, after all, he had sensed actual dark magic in the past. Vicki moved into position near the other end of the bookshelf, half-crouched and hands at the ready like a goalie in a hockey game.

"Ready?" Henry asked

"Ready." She replied.

"On the count of three. One…" He braced his hands on the bookshelf.

"Two…" The two both tensed in preparation.

"Three!" With almost no effort, he lifted his end of the shelf up at a forty-five degree angle.

Hurriedly, but with surprising accuracy and speed for a half-blind human, Vicki hurriedly darted towards the bookshelf and…

Scared all of the dust bunnies into the kitchen!

"Vicki! Vicki, where'd it go? Vicki!" Henry said. From the angle at which he was holding the shelf, he had to keep his head up at a mildly awkward angle, or bump his chin.

"It's…it's not here. Henry, the only thing down here is a few dust bunnies." Vicki sounded extremely perplexed.

"What? No!" He protested urgently.

"Sorry, I don't know what to tell you." She replied, confused and a little angry. Stupid dogs.

"I spent _three hours_ dusting yesterday! You're telling me that's where it all went?!" He sounded terribly upset.

"Henry, you aren't…wait, you spent three hours dusting?"

"Yes!" He answered, exasperated and clearly upset and also still holding the shelf.

"Wait, then where did it go?"

"I didn't hear any sudden movements." He replied as he put the bookshelf down and began to pick up the small grey balls of fluff, collecting them in his hand.

"Was it an illusion?" She asked, more intent on finding whatever-it-was that had disappeared behind the shelf than cleanliness.

"I doubt it. I can tell the difference between an illusion and a solid object." He told her calmly. There really weren't that many dust bunnies, anyway. So that was okay.

"A projection, then?" She offered.

"In our case, same difference." He countered.

"You got any better ideas?"

"Whatever it was wasn't…what it appeared to be."

"You mean a tiny dog."

"Yes, I mean it wasn't really a tiny dog."

"Well, could you smell it once you knew it was there?" Henry opened his mouth as if to answer, but then seemed to consider it.

"I…no, come to think of it. I couldn't smell anything new, or sense it or…or anything, for that matter. That's bizarre." He frowned.

"That's supernatural, you mean. Maybe you weren't too hasty when you decided to call Sagara. I'll get Coreen on this." For the umpteenth time, she took out her cell phone. Before dialing, she had a thought.

"Maybe we ought to get the painting back first." Henry's mood brightened substantially when reminded of the current torture the little creature had bestowed upon his favorite detective.

"Can I come?" Vicki stared at him blankly for a second, considering.

"Only if you play nice."

"Always." She snorted.

XXX

In order to keep Mike on his good side, they'd agreed to meet in a public parking lot. Admittedly it was two in the morning meaning that few people were out regardless, but it had made Vicki feel a little better. Henry and Vicki got there first, but Mike wasn't far behind.

"He'd better have a damn good excuse for doing what he did!" Vicki heard the shouts before she saw the man.

"Where's my painting, detective?" Henry held his arms out expectantly. Mike just glared at him angrily.

"You did take it down, didn't you, Mike?" Vicki asked, brows knit together.

"Well, I _would_ have if your royal Pain In The Ass hadn't put one of the nails in the crack that was already in my ceiling." Mike's face was beet red, and understandably so.

"You mean…"

"I can either leave it in or destroy my entire ceiling."

"So…"

"I'm still deciding." Vicki couldn't help but smile.

"Right, well –" She placed a hand on his chest when he started for the vampire, murder in his eyes.

"First, Henry didn't put it there."

"Really. So, your _other_ vampire cartoonist friend drew the picture?"

"She never said I didn't draw the picture, detective." Henry cut in, smirking.

"Henry, don't." Vicki warned, eyebrows raised dangerously.

"Yeah, Henry, don't." Mike repeated, in a tone not unlike the sibling with whom Mom has sided. Her attention turned to him, with the same accusing raised eyebrows.

"Mike, we don't know how his picture ended up in your house. But Henry didn't put it there."

"Oh, really. And you're just going to take his word for it."

"Believe me, Celucci, if it were my doing I would be gloating, not lying about it." Mike looked like he was going to explode for just a second. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, calming himself slightly. He could be the bigger man.

"Fine. What did take his precious picture, then?" Vicki pressed her lips together and stared at him for a second, not saying anything.

"Well…" Mike groaned.

"What tells me I'm not going to like this answer?" He already looked defeated.

"We believe it may be something supernatural, Coreen is looking into it." Henry finished for her.

"Believe? You mean, there's a chance that it's not?" He looked hopeful for a second. Henry and Vicki exchanged glances.

"…no." Henry said.

"No, it's definitely something supernatural." Vicki added. You know, just to make sure the message sunk in properly. Mike grunted.

"Why so sure?"

"Well, for one thing, I didn't smell anything out of place, meaning it couldn't have been normal theft. And for another, there was this…incident." Henry finished delicately.

"What kind of 'incident'?"

"This thing that looked like a little dog disappeared behind his bookshelf, only Henry says he could tell it wasn't really a dog." Vicki explained. Mike just stared in mildly stunned silence for a few seconds.

"Great. Sure. Why not. Little dogs are making my life hell now."

A/N: Sorry for the lack of anything actually happening in this chapter. It's just that today I'm going through withdrawal. Again. Aw, poo.

Do a good deed today. Post a review. Feed the plot bunnies. Come on. Look at those big bunny eyes. How can you say no to those big bunny eyes?


	5. What's a little B and E between friends?

Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill.

"So…" Coreen began. Her and Vicki were sitting in the office, Coreen in front of a suspiciously large pile of books and Vicki on the couch. It was near noon, and Henry had left hours earlier. They'd made almost no headway.

"Did he ever have any past experiences with small dogs?"

"What, like past trauma with terriers?" Vicki snorted.

"Vicki, look at what you've given me: A, something that stole a pretty specific painting. B, somehow it knew the way to cause the most trouble for him was to hang it up in Mike's apartment. C, Dog ghost."

"No, he said it wasn't a ghost." Vicki pointed out. She groaned and sprawled herself over the couch.

"A poltergeist?" Coreen offered.

"Aren't they the same thing?" Coreen looked like she was going to explode.

"The same thing? Vicki, a ghost is something that once was human that has some reason for staying behind after it has died, like it's stuck on this plane. A poltergeist is just a spirit that causes trouble and –"

"Coreen?" Vicki interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"Do I actually look like I care?"

"Vicki, the difference is huge! I mean, they're barely in the same family –"

"_Coreen_!"

"Sorry." Vicki sighed; she'd gotten almost no sleep last night. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was very hard to take this case seriously.

"So, what do we know?" She asked. Coreen pursed her lips and rested her chin on one fist.

"It's not a dog." She said finally.

"Really, Coreen?_Really_? Because we hadn't gotten that already."

"How do you know that it's necessarily related to the painting theft?"

"I don't believe in coincidences. The thing wasn't natural." Coreen drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"Well, just because it wasn't dark magic doesn't mean it isn't magic. It could be that…" Vicki held her hand up to stop Coreen from finishing.

"No. Don't say it. I can't handle it if the dog has magical powers. No."

"But –"

"No." Vicki stared her down, and that was that.

"Well, what if someone with the gift had been controlling it?" She asked.

"Wouldn't Henry be able to sense that?" Vicki countered.

"We only know that he senses dark magic. We don't know about natural magic. Do we?"

"I guess not. I mean, I don't think so." Vicki sighed. "Maybe we should wait and ask him. We have other, paying cases."

"Nothing you can do today." Coreen had a point; all of Vicki's current cases required surveillance, and it was Sunday.

"Fine. I'll go poke around in Henry's apartment."

"But it's daylight." She protested.

"Exactly."

XXX

Vicki, using her Super Duper Amazing Fantastic Awesome Lock Picking Kit (not really) calmly let herself into Henry's apartment. Of course, the secret thrill of breaking and entering that she could be caught be the owner of the house at any moment was completely dead, as it was three in the afternoon, and even if it had been later he wouldn't have minded. She headed first for his studio, the crime scene. That is, if this could even be considered a crime.

_Well, he may dust, but he doesn't do much else,_ she thought as she saw the state of disarray that was his workspace. Half-finished drawings were everywhere, littering the table, tacked up on the wall, even the floor. Maybe he always cleaned up when he thought someone was coming over, because she'd never seen it this bad before. Tut-tutting like a mother hen, she walked over the closet where he stored his larger paintings. Yanking open the door, she couldn't resist rifling through the other paintings.

She was mildly flattered, slightly offended, and less than surprised to see that she was the focal point of at least three or four. Other than that, there was no evidence of tampering, a break in, or, you know, archaic Satanist symbols. She pursed her lips and moved on to the living room, which she took to be the victim of a particularly…passionate scuffle yesterday, judging from the crumpled rug and the off-kilter furniture. She began to search for any evidence of the small dog, looking for any…

Any what? What kind of evidence did she expect a tiny little non-dog to leave? She halfheartedly searched for any muddy footprints, scratches, marks, bodily fluids. Nothing. She would have thought she was seeing things if Henry hadn't seen it too. Just then she heard a crash from the front hall. Whipping out her ever-so-handy asp, she ran towards the noise. A tall, dark figure was standing with its back to her.

"Mike?"

"Vic?" He whipped around, trench coat swishing against his legs.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Investigating. What about you?" She cocked her eyebrow.

"Uh…official…official police business. You know, break in and theft."

"Mike, you're a homicide detective."

"Well, yeah, but, I mean, someone had to figure this out, I mean-"

"No one called it in."

"But…"

"Mike."

"But!" She waited for him to finish, which he didn't.

"I don't suppose you've found anything I didn't?" She continued finally.

"Yeah, there were a bunch of heads in his freezer." She narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, you're a funny, funny man. Funny man." He snorted and she whacked him in the arm.

"Ow."

"Shut up, you pansy, that couldn't have hurt."

"How do you know?" He retorted.

XXX

The spent the rest of the day 'investigating', most of which consisted of sitting on Henry's couch and joking around. Really, there wasn't anything to find.

"Wait, no, you said we weren't allowed to do obscure things!" Vicki protested.

"What's obscure about the Czech Republic?"

"Well, it doesn't sound like it starts with a C. I think that should count for something." He grinned at her.

"Well, Kentucky_sounds_ like it starts with a C. Does that count?"

"Shut up!" She countered elegantly.

"Goodness me, I wasn't informed that my humble abode was the new police headquarters." Henry interrupted, coming out of his bedroom wearing only pants.

"Put on a shirt." Vicki told him, though she certainly didn't shield her eyes.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

"It's what _I_ want you to do." Mike interrupted, turning to face the vampire. Henry resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. It was a very strong urge to stick out his tongue.

"I don't suppose you've made any headway?"

"Well, Coreen hasn't called me yet. I could try her cell and see if she's gotten anything." Just then Vicki's cell phone started ringing. Before she answered it,

"That's your ring tone?" Mike asked. Vicki glared at him.

"It's programmed to sound like a phone. Vicki Nelson." She answered the phone.

"Ms. Nelson? This is Bettie Sagara."

"Oh, hey Bettie." Henry's head shot up and the mention of his friend's name.

"I'm here with Coreen, your assistant?"

"…and?"

"We believe we may have an answer for you." There was numerous clacking and rustling as the phone changed hands.

"Hey Vicki it's Coreen I think we found out what it is but you should come down here now and then we can talk because this is something that is easier to explain in person also probably you should come alone because Henry will get all indignant." Vicki paused, trying to absorb the punctuation-less wonder sentence.

"'Kay, I'll be right down."

A/N: Okay, again, sorry for the lack of almost no headway being made, but it was necessary. I couldn't just very well blurt out the big ol' secret at the beginning of the chapter, could I? So, this one is less…well, everything, but hopefully the next chapter will be better.

Reviews feed plot bunnies. Reviews feed plot bunnies. Reviews feed plot bunnies. Keep repeating it to yourself. Reviews feed plot bunnies. (I don't actually mean that as a threat, but, you know, I'm an attention sponge.)


	6. Well, I thought it was funny

"For every problem there is a solution which is simple, clean and wrong."

**Henry Louis Mencken**

"What about this is FUNNY TO YOU?!" He shouted, holding the small, hair-covered creature at arms length, like one would a doll. With every movement of his arm, the thing's legs would swing from side to side limply. He grasped at Henry's fingers with his small, skinny and hair-covered arms, screeching in some foreign language.

Vicki's lips quivered, her shoulders shook, her eyes crinkled in barely controlled laughter. She looked like she was going to burst. She held up a finger and pointed to the thing in Henry's hand. Every word she spoke trembled with suppressed amusement, and she spoke slowly to keep from exploding.

"You're…you're holding a _little_-_furry_-_man_!"

-Earlier that day-

"Hey, Coreen, Dr. Sagara. You got some answers for me?" Vicki walked in, her hands stuffed in her pockets. Her assistant had buried herself behind several huge textbooks that looked like they weighed about as much as her. Literally buried herself, Vicki had to peer over the literature to find the tiny gothette.

"Hey Vicki!" She stared up from her little book-castle.

"Hello, Victoria. It's wonderful to see you again." Dr. Sagara smiled warmly.

"So, what did you guys find out?" Coreen extracted herself from her mountain, scooting back her chair and moving around to stand in front of Vicki. She didn't like the way her assistant was smiling.

"Okay, well," she began. "At first my priority wasn't so much the dog as it was the lack of detection on Henry's part. So, I looked for trouble makers: boggarts,"

"Like in the book!"

"Book?"

"Never mind."

"So, I looked up spirits notorious for troublemaking. But, I couldn't come up with anything that seemed plausible, you know, because then I looked further into it and they all have telltale signs."

"Okay, so, what's your point?"

"Then I thought it might be magic, so I was looking for anyone who might have the gift, but other than that little girl…"

"The psychic one?"

"Yeah, her…I couldn't find anyone. And, you know, I doubt a seven year old would be able to plan something that efficiently."

"Coreen, get to the point."

"Well, then I thought, what if…what if it's not that Henry can't sense the thing, what if it's that he's just so used to the thing that he doesn't notice it?"

"Are you saying he's set up house with a faerie or something?"

"Not necessarily. But, what if it's a presence that was in his apartment before him?"

"Like a…like a house elf or something?"

"Sort of. Look." Despite all of her impossibly large books, Coreen handed Vicki a sheaf of papers that had clearly been printed from the internet. Vicki flipped through it.

"A domovoi?"

"Yes. They're like…Russian house elves. Usually they don't make their presences known, but if, say, they had a squabble with the neighbors…"

"They'd get into a little Russian elf-war." Vicki finished for her. She looked at the picture in the article, brows knit together in confusion.

"But this says that the take on the appearance of small, elderly men. We saw a dog."

"Keep reading. Sometimes they can take on the appearance of dogs, cats, even rats, when it suits them. The stories of that are less common than those of the domovoi taking on the appearance of the owner, but they're still there."

"So what do we do about it?"

"Well, if it's a feud, we find out what the problem between the two domovye is and we fix it." Vicki handed Coreen the article and frowned.

"'If'?"

"Well, I mean, we don't know for sure. Keep in mind I'm going on a half second glimpse of a tiny little dog."

"Well, it did look kind of like a huskie, I guess…"

"That would make sense." Actually, in Vicki's opinion, it'd looked kind of like a Chihuahua. But, still.

"I'm going to go back to Henry's now." Vicki zipped up her coat and fished out her wallet to call a cab.

"Can I stay here? Bettie – Dr. Sagara has some really cool stuff and she's going to teach me about Cerberus. That's the –"

"Three-headed dog from the Underworld, I know, Coreen."

"Oh, well, it's-"

"Goodbye, Coreen. I'll see you tomorrow." Vicki left the room as quickly as she'd come.


	7. You tend those flocks!

Disclaimer (yay!): You know, I'm running out of creative ways to say that I stole someone else's characters. Does that count?

-We're baaaack-

"Yes, Vicki, yes, I am holding a furry little man. Okay? There's nothing funny about this."

"You not going to die! Don't worry! None bad!" Screeched the tiny person in heavily accented English. He flailed helplessly, trying to shield his eyes and hide his body. Henry frowned and turned his attention back to the domovoi.

"What did you say?"

"You no see me!" Cried the man.

"Yes, you dirty thief, I do see you! I see you and I know what you've done!" His eyes flashed black for a brief second as he tried to control his predatory nature. Vicki, however, was still laughing.

"You…have…to…let…him…hide…Henry…" She said between fits of laughter and gasping for air.

"What?!"

"Henry, he's your domovoi." She had finally gotten control of herself. Sort of.

"He's…he's _my_ domovoi? Vicki, what's a domovoi?"

"They're like…Russian house elves. There's one per house. Or, I guess, apartment, now. This is the one that lives here."

"Put down! Let go! Bad man!" Shouted the domovoi.

"In Russian folklore, seeing the domovoi forewarned of death." Vicki explained. "Obviously, that's not what he meant to do." Henry sighed.

"That would explain the heavy Russian accent." He scrutinized the little man for a few more seconds before carefully bending down and placing him on the floor. His domovoi just scowled at him, made a rather rude face, and scuttled under the stove. Henry stared at the place he'd last seen him, then up at Vicki.

"…Is it supposed to do that?"

"Yep. Under the stove or the threshold, but you don't have the latter." He blinked absentmindedly a few times.

"Where'd Mike go?" she asked.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Out." Vicki scowled at him, looking so much like the domovoi it was almost frightening.

"He had to go back to work. He got paged. Happy?"

"Yes." Now it was Vicki who had to stop herself from sticking out her tongue.

"No die! Don't worry!" Came the assuring hiss from underneath the stove. Even Henry couldn't help it, he let out an amused "Heh." and the small man who was so insistent that Henry wasn't going to die.

"Kind of ironic, wouldn't you say, Vicki?" Henry smiled at his stove. Vicki laughed, coming to stand next to him.

"So, how do we keep this fellow from taking my paintings? Isn't he a little small to even carry it?" He asked. Despite himself, he was growing fond. The domovoi was paranoid, but in a sense he was just trying to adjust to the modern world. He hadn't asked for a vampire resident.

"Aren't you a little pale for a human?" Vicki countered.

"Point taken." The laws of physics didn't exactly apply to the supernatural (hence the 'super' prefix). "Still," he continued, "for something so insistent that I stay safe in my own home, it seems bizarre for it to want to take my prized painting." Vicki raised one eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"'Prized painting?'"

"…they were some very nice hellhound legs." He protested, though his efforts were futile. Vicki wasn't listening, though. She'd suddenly gone into one of her moods, staring at him blankly.

"Vic?"

"Mmmmhm."

"Are you alright?"

"Mmmmm." She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. The problem, as Henry saw it, was that he didn't know if she was thinking about work or something else.

"Who else lives on this floor, Henry?" He tried to keep the shock from his face and several creative thoughts from his mind.

"Some actor or something, why?"

"Well, we're going to need to find out what his problem is."

"What do you mean?"

"The only reason that a domovoi would take your painting is if it was in a…a feud with the other one. So, his domovoi takes your painting and yours takes his…I dunno, address book or something." Henry frowned.

"…how do we get him to come back out from the stove?" Vicki went to his computer to try and google it.

"Here we go. Try saying this." She pointed to the article she'd found. Henry's brow furrowed.

"Wh…um…" He coughed.

"Suck it up, Your Highness." He winced.

"Dedushka Dobrokhot, please come into my house and tend the flocks." He paused. Nothing.

"Say it again."

"This is incredibly undignified."

"Say it again!"

"Dedushka Dobrokhot, please come into my house and tend the flocks!" He was slightly louder this time.

"Again!"

"I feel like an idiot."

"Don't worry, you sound like one. Say it again."

"Dedushka Dobrokhot, please come into my house and tend the flocks!" There was a scuttling noise.

A/N: I realize that this is much shorter than usual, but I had a barrage of, well, bullshit to do today and I'm now working on four different stories at once. I'd love anyone's thoughts, good or bad! Reviews feed my plot bunnies! Set them free! Free into the cold, cold world!


	8. I Already Say!

Disclaimer: Okay, things get a little wonky today. I took a few (in my opinion) well-deserved liberties with the general nonsensical and tactless humor, thank you very much ladies and gentlemen::walks off in a huff::

"I already say! You no die! Stinky dead man." The domovoi screeched from the living room. Vicki and Henry hurried over, though Henry was sure to stay behind Vicki to avoid the tiny little man's wrath.

He was sitting square in the middle of Henry's black leather chair, arms crossed, legs out. He looked like a very small child, as the chair was much, much too large for him. He scowled.

"Uh...Debrush...desbuska…debushk…domovoi." Vicki began, hating Russian more and more with every stumbled syllable.

"Huh? Ack." Was his reply.

"Are you…um, why are you…do you have anything to say?"

"No. Leave." Vicki and Henry exchanged glances.

"Me?" Henry asked.

"No." His gaze switched to Henry now. "Her. Intruder." Henry winced in preparation for the exploding volcano that was about to become Victoria Nelson.

"I'm sorry, intruder? _I'm_ the intruder? Listen, you tiny furry-assed hobbit, I'm not the one who's responsible for some other domovoi stealing his painting! Get OVER yourself!"

"Other domovoi?" replied the tiny furry-assed hobbit, completely unfazed.

"Wh-" Vicki stopped herself, then turned to face Henry. "Was he even listening to what I said?" Henry just stared at her absently.

"Henry?" He was smiling a little. "Henry? Answer me!"

And it took seventeen years as a Tudor, years of being groomed for the throne, four hundred eighty years of vampirism, and every incidental experience he'd had with a woman to let out only:

"Gosh you're pretty." Vicki just looked at him with open mouthed disgust and…well, confusion.

"Henry? Did you eat an addict or something?"

"No."

"Then why did you say that?"

"Cause you're pretty today." Mouth still open, Vicki just. Stared. At. Him.

"Ahem." The domovoi, who for the sake of length and simplicity shall heretofore be known as Stephan, reminded them of his presence, rather unsuccessfully.

"So, your head is actually just full of hair, right? Because clearly your brain isn't working today."

"It's working just fine, Victoria. I thought you might enjoy the compliment." Henry made an attempt to regain his dignity.

"Not when it sounds like it could come from the mouth of a five year old." Vicki scowled, then turned back to Stephan.

"Why is the other domovoi trying to sabotage Henry?" Stephan himself now scowled, beyond the permanent scowl on his face, which was in itself quite a feat.

"You say other domovoi. What other domovoi? What he do?" Clearly, English was not Stephan's strong suit.

Vicki frowned. If this man truly was the cause, why was he denying it?

"He…he took the painting. Henry's painting, the one that Mike wasn't supposed to see…" At the mention of this, Vicki remembered to turn back to Henry and glare holes through his undead skull for painting the object of such distress.

"No." Stephan said simply. Vicki's eyebrows quickly dove down into a V.

"'No'? What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean, 'no'. I say 'no', I mean, 'no'. What 'no' mean to you, lady?" Stephan leaned to the side, so that he was looking directly at Henry, not Vicki.

"Your smart lady pretty dumb." Henry tried to contain the bubble of laughter that his gut had just thrown up into his mouth.

"I am not!" Vicki looked to him for support, of which she got none. She turned back to Stephan. "I am not."

"Other domovoi no take painting."

"And I suppose you know who did?" _You smug little Russian lawn gnome_. She didn't finish the sentence aloud. Stephan frowned, making him look a bit like a bull dog with longer hair, as if it were obvious.

"I did."

A/N: Sorry this took so long…but…well, my brain was all full of the wrong kind of funny (that mainly being first-person funny). So I just told myself to hammer out a page and a half of this (sorry about the short length). And, well, I just had to name him Stephan because he seemed just about as far from a Stephan as you can get while still being male. Spread it like wildfire.


	9. Hate Is A Strong, Strong, Accurate Word

Disclaimer: If I owned Blood Ties, do you think it's fate would still be in limbo?

"I'm sorry…you did what now?" Vicki stared at him, flustered and angry and, frankly, more than a little bit annoyed.

"Painting? Of man being eaten? By dogs?" Each phrase was a question, waiting for confirmation on Henry's part.

"Yes…"

"I take."

"And you put it in Mike's apartment?" Stephan looked rather confused.

"Mike?"

"Yes. Tall, blonde – "

"Dull." Henry finished for her. Vicki chose to ignore this. She would have to just lock them in a room one day and then she'd eventually she'd only have to deal with one.

"Adversary?" Vicki looked to Henry.

"How does he know words like 'adversary' if he can't even conjugate verbs?" He shrugged helplessly.

"Did you give it to someone else?" Stephan shrugged.

"Adversary."

"What adversary?!" Vicki cried before flinging herself on the couch in front of Stephan, who was not amused by this. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I believe he's talking about Mike." Vicki sighed and pulled her glasses off of her nose. The last thing she needed to strengthen the Henry And Mike Chasm was a Russian dwarf. That had evidently learned English from a page-a-day calendar.

"Did you tack the painting up?"

"Dead man needed to learn!" Stephan whined.

"Learn what?" Henry looked a bit angry. What did a domovoi know that he hadn't learned in four hundred eighty years?

Stephan shot him a look. "Dead man. Needed to learn." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously before once again taking on the form of a dog ( a process too fast for human eyes) and diving under the couch.

"Did that seem a bit…off, to you?" Henry asked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"'Off' is putting it politely." Vicki groaned and pressed her forehead into Henry's shoulder, tired and exasperated and generally wishing the day would get itself over with.

"Why, oh why does the world hate me?" She chuckled. Henry was speechless, and a good thing it was, too.

"Come on." Vicki abruptly released Henry from her forehead grip and headed out the door in one fluid movement. He, however, had yet still to cease adjusting to the original situation of Vicki's forehead on his arm.

"Oh."

XXX

"Vicki?" Mike asked, trying to act surprised that she'd shown up at the station near eight o'clock.

"Have you seen a little furry man in your house recently?" They stared off for a few seconds before Mike dragged her into a corner.

"Shut _up_! Don't say things like that out loud!"

"So, what, I'll just think it and you'll know?"

"Vicki."

"Michael." He grimaced at the use of his full name.

"No, I have not seen any…_furry little men_, Vic?" She smiled and patted him on the arm.

"Good to know. Thanks!" She headed for the door before he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Okay, you are NOT leaving without an explanation." She regarded him coolly for a minute.

"I'm thinking it." She placed her fingers on her temples and screwed up her face.

"Are you getting anything?"

"That's not funny." She smirked.

"Vicki. What the hell is going on?"

"Well, obviously it doesn't concern you."

"Excuse me, but I think it concerns me very much."

"Excuse me, but bye." Mike snorted angrily in a manner not unlike that of a bull.

"Vic, can you just tell me? Please?" His voice was like acid over gravel, as it was a shout condensed into a whisper.

"What, Mike Celluci, _begging_? Such a travesty of justice!" Mike glared at her, and, fully content that he knew she'd won, she relented.

"The thing that's bothering Henry is a domovoi. Sort of like little mini housekeepers."

"So, set out a little mini housekeeper trap. Use a Mr. Clean sponge or something." Vicki snorted.

"Only if you let me borrow one of yours."

"To catch this little furry man?"

"One of them."

"What?"

"Problem is, we don't know which one."

"There's….there's more than one?"

"Every house has a domovoi. You have one, Henry has one, I guess even I have one…" Vicki tried not to think about some things she'd done in the privacy of her own home being watched at every moment by a man. A small, furry, mythical non human man, but nevertheless, a man.

"So, what, they all got together to bug their human tenants?" Vicki rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, something like that." It wasn't worth explaining. Too open for jokes on his part.

"And that's why my ceiling is permanently ruined?" Mike hadn't been able to sleep for days, 'content' in the knowledge that that painting was always. Right. Above. His head. Silently mocking him.

"As far as we know."

"So…"

"So, if you do happen to see any furry little men, dogs, cats or rats, give me a call."

"And you'll what, exterminate them?" Vicki bounced her eyebrows, not saying anything, before heading back out the door.

A/N: Once again, sorry for the wait…but, I'd rather write because I want to write than because I want attention. Not saying I don't want to attention, mind you. Attention and me are friends. How much do I love attention?

-------------------- This much.

Reviews feed the plot bunnies! Tell 'em, Alejandro!

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You know you want to.


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